You're Very Loyal Very Quickly
by martiangirlsworld
Summary: I wrote this because ppl on tumblr were panicking over an AU prompt about "What if Sherlock's adventures with John were just imagined while he was in a coma after overdosing badly and John was just a kind doctor reading him detective novels all that time." Yes, well, that could be cute if Sher wakes up to a friendly face. :) Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

"Doctor Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Mycroft Holmes has asked to see you, sir."

"Oh. Alright. Thanks, Vera."

Doctor John Watson, self-appointed baby-sitter for Mycroft's comatose younger brother, Sherlock Holmes... He sighed, steeled himself for an awkward encounter, and made his way to room 221. Mycroft was waiting in the doorway, leaning imperiously on his umbrella and drawing glances from the nurses for his posh suit. For once, the man who may-or-may-not be the government looked... ordinary. John had seen that expression on far too many faces. He softened, realizing that even this man cared for his little brother.

"Good evening, Doctor. I hear that you are continuing your..._ personal_ approach to my brother's care. I must say that this is unforeseen - of course, you didn't meet him awake."

"Heh. Perhaps this episode will scare the rough edges off... What did he do, work-wise, I mean? Despite the drugs, he looks like an intellectual sort of bloke."

"Yes. Crudely put, but yes. After we dragged him through university, he did help the Yard on a few cases. I believe he was beginning to think of himself as a... 'consulting detective'."

Mycroft did not miss the odd little smile which curved the corners of the doctor's lips.

"What are you thinking of, Doctor Watson?"

"Well, you see... I've begun reading him detective novels..." He became embarrassed. "After hours. I... haven't got anything better to do, I suppose."

"No? I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. Dr. Sawyer over there would clearly enjoy spending the evening with you." John started, and Mycroft smirked. "Though perhaps she's not your_ type_. Anyway, I am grateful for your interest, Doctor Watson, and I will be checking in with you weekly for your observations of Sherlock." With that, Mycroft left.

_Well,_ John thought,_ that was odd. And embarrassing._ Shaking it off, he continued into the room and settled into the chair next to the man's head. A book lay in his lap.

"Your older brother was here, Sherlock. I bet you noticed somehow; he seems like the sort of man you probably never get along with. Are you as obnoxiously observant as he is? It would be just my luck, wouldn't it? Well, let's get on with the story before I give myself away anymore, hmm? …_ 'It is true that I can speak the exact, the idiomatic English. But, my friend, to speak the broken English is an enormous asset. It leads people to despise you..._"

* * *

**A/N: John is reading from Agatha Christie. **


	2. Chapter 2

_Mycroft_... Sherlock flailed mentally, wanting to push his brother out of his head. On some level, the genius knew exactly what was happening. He'd overdosed, boredom driving him to idiocy, and now his nosy brother must have showed up at the hospital. _Why else would he occur to me?_ This was highly unusual, but Sherlock was never ordinary. He was also quite sure, in moments when he surfaced slightly from the void, dark unconsciousness, that a man named John was taking care of him. This made no sense, of course, but Sherlock, the third time he thought he heard him talking, decided he must be a doctor. Most of the time, however, Sherlock was not even remotely aware. In fact, neither Mycroft, the nurses, Soo-lin and Vera, nor Doctor Watson would have guessed that he spent the majority of his time in a dreamland. In his rare moments of awareness, Sherlock didn't remember any of his dreams, but they must have been good, because he retreated further into them as time went on.

* * *

_" No, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."_

_"That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took us to get here."_

_"Stop it! We can't giggle at a crime scene."_

_"Where are we headed?"_

_"I need to ask some advice."_

_"What? Sorry?"_

_"You heard me perfectly, I'm not saying it again."_

_"Your mind; it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launchpad... I need a case!"_

_"You just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently."_

_"Oh, that was this morning. When's the next one?"_

* * *

Eventually, as the weeks passed, Sherlock forgot that what he dreamed wasn't actually happening. Life was better inside the dreams anyway, where John was his friend, and he hadn't disappointed Mrs. Hudson, and Molly turned out to be capable of far more than he expected from her. On the outside, Mycroft was beginning to get impatient. He badgered John about scaring Sherlock's body out of his coma by pulling the feeding tube. He didn't really care that this was not medically sound; he merely wanted to get on with things, taking Sherlock's delay as spite.

"Dr. Watson, Sherlock's body has had quite a time. It can certainly handle a shock!"

"He is my patient, Mycroft. You will not tell me how to do my job and you will not abuse your little brother just because you've _gotten bored of checking on him!_"

* * *

"Sherlock - I doubt you can hear me... but you've got to wake up. This isn't normal. The overdose should've only taken you out for a week or two; it's been two months!" John had continued to read and talk to the man the entire time, sometimes telling him stories about his own life, sometimes reading him stories of adventure and mystery. Considering that many of his coma ward patients never woke up, he knew it was unwise to get attached, but John really had come to consider Sherlock a friend. There was just something about the man...


	3. Chapter 3

**This was going to be the last chapter, but you guys are so nice... It inspired me to make this tale a bit longer! :D Yay for Johnlock. Stay sweet, lovelies! And don't worry...**

* * *

"Doctor Watson!"

"Soo-lin? What's wrong?"

"It's Sherlock - he's crashing!" He took off down the quiet hallway.

"Just now? What happened?" Soo-lin was running just behind him.

"We don't know, sir. He started thrashing about! His heart's haywire."

"Damn!" John skidded into the room, sliding between slightly frantic nurses to lean over Sherlock's face. The man was even paler than normal, and his skin was shining with sweat as is body panicked. This patient was_ not allowed to die_. John helped the nurses strap him down, since they didn't think it wise to try to sedate an unconscious drug addict. It suddenly hit him - why had Sherlock's body not shown signs of withdrawal? Perhaps he was sort of... paused.

Just then, they all realized at once that the heart monitor had reversed directions. Instead of beating too fast, it had slowed to a deadly crawl. Vera, Soo-lin, and their trainee quietly stepped into the hall. John would be emotional about this loss. As the beeps faded, he leaned over and pressed his face into the pillow next to Sherlock's head.

"Don't. Don't don't don't. _Please_ - as if I mean anything - as if I'm anyone at all - Just this one miracle, mate. Just - don't be... dead... Sherlock..." He heard a logical, snide voice in his head saying how ridiculous it was to have gotten attached in the first place, that he had no right, that he didn't even know the man, that he just liked to look at him because he was built like a marble god. John didn't listen - he was too busy realizing that the heart rate had picked up again.

"Holy - oh my - what - _Sherlock_... ...VERA! Soo-lin!" John stood back, grinning like an idiot as the nurses cheered over Sherlock's miraculous recovery. He even appeared to be sleeping more normally, the three decided. The ladies left John sitting in his usual chair, watching his patient, while they went to the cafeteria for celebratory tea and scones. John pulled out his phone, sighing; he'd almost forgotten to call Mycroft.

"Mycroft Holmes?"

"Yes? Dr. Watson? What's happened?"

"Sherlock almost crashed a few moments ago..."

"Almost?"

"He sort of panicked - a dream I suppose - or withdrawal - anyway, his heart nearly stopped... He just... started up again..."

"Judging by your tone, Doctor, I think we need to have a talk."

"I - what?"

"One: you are deluding yourself. Two: you think he will wake soon. I'll explain in person." Mycroft hung up on the bemused doctor. John sat staring unashamedly at Sherlock, wondering vaguely what his brother was on about.

* * *

"Doctor Watson?" Mycroft was standing in the door.

"Oh! Um... You wanted to talk?"

"Yes. It seems we have a problem - or rather_ you_ do." Seeing John's expression, he quickly continued, "You have persuaded yourself that Sherlock is your friend. My little brother does not have friends. He is rude and arrogant and reveals a person's secrets to everyone in the room almost as soon as he sees them simply because the outrage produced distracts him from his boredom for a few minutes. He plays the violin with his thoughts - that is to say, he either saws at it, or plays like the masters. He runs around after criminals or with criminals. He is not the man you have sat with and told your life story to and read adventures with and... loved."

For a few moments, John was shocked into silence. Mycroft merely watched him, but his face gave little away. Suddenly, he stood and walked up to the smug aristocrat.

"Give me a little credit,_ Mycroft_. Pretty much everything you just said has already occurred to me, and you're overlooking something. _You_ don't know_ me_. I'd already realized he must be at least as bad about observing things as you from what you said about him, and I'm his doctor now - I know what sort of things he's been up to to get that medical record. I'm a medical professional; I'm not an idiot. Let me guess: you two don't get along?" he finished scathingly. (John was extremely satisfied by the shock on Mycroft's face.) "Now, I can't make you leave, as you're family, but I can limit visiting hours - do you get my drift?"

"Er - perfectly. I have some business to attend to anyway. Good night, John." John preened slightly as he watched the British Government retreat down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so this is really long but it was either going to be super long or super short... and I didn't want to do that to you guys. :) Yayyyy for fluffy feels!**

* * *

John fell asleep in his chair, head falling forward onto Sherlock's mattress. When he woke (around four) the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that he had an imprint of the sheets in his face. The second thing he noticed was that Sherlock was staring at him. John flushed with embarrassment before his brain processed that _Sherlock was awake_, and then he blanched in shock.

"Sh-Sherlock?" The man just blinked, which John realized he hadn't been doing. "Are... Are you okay? Can you hear me? That's a better question..." Sherlock nodded slowly. "Okay, good. Um, do you know where you are?" Sherlock frowned. "Oh. Alright, look, uh, just - stay put, okay? You're in the hospital. I'm going to go tell the nurses you're awake. Don't try to move."

Sherlock nodded silently gain, and John stepped out into the hall as calmly as he could. To his relief, he saw Vera walking towards him.

"Oh! Doctor Watson, I was just coming to wake you. I'm sorry we left you to sleep in that uncomfortable position, but -"

"He's awake."

"Wha - _really_?"

"Yes, but I don't think he remembers what happened and I don't think I'll call his brother just yet. I'm going to let you and Soo-lin check on him like we'd normally do, while I use the restroom and wake up a little more. When I come back, though, I'm going to talk to him alone, see if I can get him functioning a little better before he has to hear why he's here."

"Okay. I'll get Soo-lin. She should be coming up right now. … And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"... I know, Vera. But thanks."

* * *

As he walked back to room 221, John steeled himself for the most awkward encounter of his life._ This is worse than admitting I'm gay to my parents was_. He was going to have to introduce himself to and be professional with a man he'd come to see as a friend and to whom he had basically told his life story over the past couple months. _Why am I such an idiot?_

"John." The doctor froze in the doorway._ Did Sherlock just say my name?_ He would have thought Vera or Soo-lin had mentioned that John was his doctor, but they looked just as astounded as he felt. "John?"

"Er - yes, hello... Thanks, ladies, see you later, then..." The nurses quickly left.

"Ah... How are you feeling?"

"Lost."_ He looks confused. Why did no one think I would know his name?_ "And weak."

"Well, that's fairly normal. Uh, look, Sherlock... I wish I didn't have to tell you this..."

"How long?"_ I've been unconscious quite a while. I don't know what happened. Something's wrong here... My memories don't line up at all. Is it a gap or did I record over them?_

"Around two months, closer to three. Do you still not remember what happened?"

"...No. I - I thought, but..." _But it makes no sense. So confused... and damned tired._

"Alright. Sherlock... don't worry about falling unconscious." John laid his hand on the man's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "You'll wake up again." As Sherlock's eyes flickered closed, John sighed resignedly. "Time to call Mycroft..."

"Fat." John started, but the insult was apparently just thrown out a few seconds before Sherlock faded into sleep again, so he didn't bother to muffle his appreciative laughter. It was just another sign that John needn't worry about getting along with the real Holmes the Younger.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Watson?"

"Yes. I hope you have a spot open in your schedule. Sherlock woke up."

"He - really? Thank you, Doctor. I will arrive shortly." Mycroft hung up.

"Well, then." John left room 221 to actually do his job, which, he reminded himself, was not actually babysitting Sherlock.

When he finally made it back to what he was really beginning to think of as his home base, John saw that Mycroft had taken his chair, and was doing much the same as John did: sitting and watching. Mycroft, John reasoned, probably looked much more composed than the doctor usually was.

"Hallo. Has he woken for you at all?"

"No. I suspect he wouldn't anyway, out of spite. You were right, you know. We don't get along. He doesn't like to think he needs help... Ever. It makes him especially distrust my keeping an eye on him. Has he said anything?"

"Well..."

"Something interesting, then. Go on. What did he say?"

"I... the first thing he said... was 'John.' He... said my name." Mycroft looked even more shocked than when John stood up to him.

"How is that possible? He recognized you? That shouldn't be possible; he was in a coma. What else did he say? Did he explain?"

"No, actually... he seemed surprised that him recognizing me surprised us. He didn't say much From what I understood, though, he doesn't remember why he's here."

"Drugs?" came a deep voice. Apparently, Sherlock had overheard the last bit.

"Ah, yes, it was," John admitted. Mycroft shifted, and stood, but kept quiet.

"For months... Strange... And my memories... Wrong..." He trailed off. "John." Sherlock looked up to see the two men staring at him. "Mycroft, get out." At first, his brother didn't appear to take this order very well, but he succumbed after Sherlock continued to glare at him.

"Sherlock... Your voice sounds better..." John attempted to keep things simple.

"Stop that."

"What."

"Dancing around things."

"Oh. Um... You have questions?"

"Why shouldn't I know you?"

"Why - Sherlock, we never met."

"What?"

"We never met... I'm the doctor in charge of this coma ward, and I never knew you existed 'til they brought you in here. I... I admit, I've been spending a lot of time in your room. You must have been more conscious than we thought, and picked up what I was saying."

"... Such as?"

"Well," John said, blushing, "I've been reading you detective stories, and telling you about my day, and talking about my life, in general, I guess."

"Ah." Sherlock smiled. "I hope I heard the important parts correctly... Not that it matters, I suppose. I have spent the last couple months dreaming that we were flatmates who had crime-solving misadventures... and I suppose I dreamed us being friends..." John couldn't bear the sad look on Sherlock's face.

"Not at all," he objected brightly. "You'll just have to tell me what I missed, not being in that head of yours, and we can pick up en medias res."

"What - _really_?"

"Really. For now though, you're starting to look exhausted again, mate."

"Yes... Thank you, John. For staying."

"Of course." Sherlock dozed off again, but this time, he was smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Guys… I am SO sorry. I started college this past week, so I've been super busy in addition to not being able to connect to the Internet. I swear I started getting actual, Tony-Stark-legit anxiety. I hope this chapter makes up for it… I know a lot of you want this story to continue as long as it can, but I think we should leave these guys in peace. The poor bastards deserve a happy life … **_C'era una volta_

* * *

A couple weeks later, Sherlock was walking the halls arm-in-arm with his doctor. Slowly.

A couple months later, he had John on his toes, guarding the energetic genius from escaping.

John switched from his job in the coma ward to being Sherlock's caretaker… which was helpful, since the first thing Sherlock did was insult the physical therapists. In fact, as the months passed, John's role became indescribable. He stood by his patient's side in a way even Sherlock's dreams couldn't predict. Dr. John Hamish Watson, caretaker, friend, admirer, counselor, mediator, supervision…

Once Sherlock had recovered enough to leave the hospital (and once Mycroft let him), he was suddenly faced with the realization that returning to his old apartment would lead to relapse, which would kill him. The new friendship (_was it ever anything so simple?_) with John gave him a reason to care.

"John… I – I need to talk with you. Preferably without my brother listening in."

"Oh. Um, does he have the place bugged?"

"Yes. He always does that."

"Oh. Well, that's disturbing. Let's go sit in a corner of the cafeteria. It won't be busy right now."

"Alright. And, no, I will not eat something."

"Yes, you will. I'm your doctor, remember?"

"Agh. Why do I like you again?"

"Erm, you're delusional and I'm adorable?"

"Dear God…" Sherlock, of course, could not read minds, and John was eternally grateful for that.

_[I don't hear you denying I'm adorable. Shut up, you lovesick git. Never. Why bother? He'll always be gorgeous and brilliant. There's no escaping it. But what does he need to talk about?]_

Sherlock' serious expression made John nervous as they sat at an isolated table.

"So… what's wrong?"

"I'll be released soon."

"Yes, you're doing well, and your brother seems to be letting up some."

"I can't – I can't go back, John."

"What? Oh – your old place? That's right… It's near dealers and crime rings, isn't it?"

"Extremely. I don't suppose there's anything you can do, John. I just – I needed to talk with someone about it."

"Well… I – I could – We could – I mean – We could get a flatshare..." John's face turned red as Sherlock stared at him in open shock. "Er – it's just – we get along – and I'm your doctor – and – "

"That's perfect."

"Really?"

"Yes! It would never work with anyone but you, John Watson, but _yes_." They grinned at each other, and the future looked brighter than it had in years.

* * *

"This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade, this is my friend Doctor John Watson."

"Friend… okay. Well, scene's over here." He walked off.

"You'll have to amend that introduction, Sherlock."

"Why?" For an answer, John just smirked and reached up to kiss him. "_Oh_… Good."

* * *

_Here's to the adventures they haven't had yet. May there be many, and may they be happy in the end._


End file.
